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Wednesday, March 30, 2011

My two bffs went up to Bethel Maine every summer. Their parents would camp and they would stay with friends. One summer I was invited along.

Bethel is in the middle of the woods. During the winter, Shawnee Peak is open so there is a lot of skiing to do. Not so much in the summer. Drinking, hanging at the general store, catching a shitty movies in the shitty theater, smoking butts and js, and driving around looking for trouble. We stuck, mostly with the latter two.

One day we were doing what all the townies were doing, which is to say nothing. Driving, smoking, maybe a swig or two. The friends took us down a long lonesome road. They began to tell us of a haunted house. A house abandoned, forgotten and probably a hotel to those visiting from beyond. We didn't believe it. Much.
Finally we entered a clearing and there was this tall old Colonial style house in the middle of the woods. "How can some one abandon such a gorgeous house?" someone asked.

Someone, of course, suggested that the old woman who was living there had died and her family did not want it. "Shit! We'll take it!"

It could have been the ghost story, or the drugs, or perhaps all of the NO Trespassing signs we blatantly ignored, but the house scared us. What was a group of 16 year old girls supposed to do? Beth and I volunteered to go in, under the condition that they honk the horn like mad if a car (or ghost) comes. Everyone agreed.

After a little B & E we were in the house. It looked like the last person that was there was in the middle of eating because there were dirty dishes around. No one lived there, because there were drapes on the furniture. "What should we take?" I asked my partner in crime. She didn't know. She found a game of jacks that she pocketed. While I searched for something more my style.

I picked up an old wine bottle that had wax dripped down the side. At the same moment that I was admiring the glassware mad honking came from outside. We both ran out the way we came in. I still carrying my wine bottle. We jumped into the car and the three girls that had stayed behind were freaking the fuck out. There was no car. There was no ghost. There was nothing but a couple of scared girls. They said we'd been in there too long. They just wanted to leave. I just wanted to go back in. At least I hung onto that bottle. I still have it and I love it."

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Today's prompt is to share a journal entry. I was gonna jump on this. I have tons of journals. I went home and thought about going through some when it occurred to me that I ought to wait until Ryder goes to bed. Surely something is bound to make me cry. Not a fan of crying in front of my kid. So I waited and promptly forgot about it. Next day was the same story. Finally last night, I was going to do it. Ryder went to play next door so I'd have a bit of time to myself.

I grabbed the journal that was lying on my bed. Nothing too recent since I'm sure I blogged about everything I wanted to share already. I flipped to the front. I stopped randomly. It was too sad.

December 2004. The Sox had won the World Series. Bush had been elected for a second term. My husband had left me. I was all alone in Denver. I had a couple of friends, but god knows I don't hang around people when I'm in the hole. I was drinking and smoking too much. Drinking and driving like it was the only way. I didn't care. A good car accident would probably help things, right? Couldn't possibly get worse, right? Well, thankfully it didn't, but it certainly could have.

I could not even read the entry. The first paragraph is all I could get through. Then I realized, they'd all be like that. I only write down bad things. I write things so I can get them out of my head. Not unlike Dumbledore's pensieve. I didn't want to write happy things because I wanted them to stay with me. I needed them. Sure, when I was a kid I wrote happy things down... maybe I should've tried them first...

Anyhow, I'm not going to share. I guess I kinda did. Either way, it still inspired me, somewhat.

Monday, March 21, 2011

I'll tell you who. Those three brats at the jumpy castle place yesterday. They started fighting. Like pushing, then slapping. Two boys and a girl. I looked around, searching for their parent, who was sure to come running. All I saw was rubber-necking parents, slightly interested in the increasing developments. No one was going to do anything, so I jumped between the bastards when one of the boys slapped the girl. "Stop!" I yelled with authority. The little bastards ran off. I felt glad that I did something, but incredibly uncomfortable in having to do so. And I started to get a little annoyed with the other parents, but then, I didn't step in until I did. Maybe they were as hesitant as I. Maybe when they saw the slap, they were just about to do something, but I was closer. I'm gonna go with that one.

Speaking of parenting, it's fucking hard. At the jumpy castle place, how much should I helicopter and how much should I let him be? I basically followed him to where he was going and played with my phone in that area, making sure I could see him if he came out. The problem with this and other bumpy castle places is that you can't really see into the bounce castles. The old school ones, the big squares, you could easily see every bit. Not these new fangled ones. If I didn't know where he was, it'd be fucking impossible to find him. And god knows you can't go into one. So I make sure I at least know which he is in. I don't just sit in the parent area and watch tv.

This little boy of mine is so independent. He has his own agenda and if I don't like it, tough, he's doing it anyways. Thankfully I am bigger and stronger than him. I know it is good that he is asserting his own ideas and desires, but it makes everything a discussion. One of my catchphrases is "This is not a discussion." He has his points neatly arranged in a PowerPoint demonstration. He puts his suit on. He has all of his evidence in baggies, all lined up and lettered. No! I'm not falling into his trap again! It's frustrating not knowing how much I should argue, or cave, or just carry out my plan.

I am doing my best, and I know that I am doing a good job and every parent makes mistakes, but I am always wondering, "is this the thing that sends him to therapy later?" Though my parenting style is much closer to my father's and I hardly ever talk about him in therapy. Maybe I'm doing alright.

Friday, March 18, 2011

I was driving down a one-way street his morning. I was driving in the middle of the road, of course. As I approach a fairly wide intersection, I see a car facing my direction. The woman in the car is trying to wave me to the right side of the road so she can drive by. Well, I didn't. As I passed her in the intersection, I rolled down my window to tell her it is a one-way. She doesn't roll down her window, even though its like 50 degrees out, but still tries to talk to me. I think she was tying to tell me that she was only going a couple of houses up or something. I really didn't care. I told her, my conscience is clear. I drove off, still shocked that she tried telling me to move.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

I feel like such an ass sometimes, commenting on people's blogs. Normally I relate to the post, so I try to explain that, which makes me feel narcisistic. Or I feel like I'm trying to down play their emotions. Or I just feel dumb.

None of this probably comes as a surprise to any of you. I know that is what we are here for, supporting each other, lending an ear, letting someone know someone is listening, but, well, I don't know.

I know that I like just knowing someone hears me once in a while. And I am sure you guys do too. Least I hope so.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Say I am standing on the road and you are on a train. Okay? Your train is moving 30 mph. You see me go by at 30 mph, right?

You are still on the same train, but now I am on a different train traveling at 30 mph. We are traveling in the same direction. You look out of your window and see me through mine and it looks like we are standing still, right? Same thing happens on the highway. Dig it?

Okay. Finally, we are both on our respective trains. We are now moving in the opposite directions. When I pass you, it looks like I am moving at 60 mph. You can't see me because I whizz by. Right? Same as the highway, again, with cars on the other side. Still with me? Raise your hand if you are not.

Okay. Now here is the relevant bit. You and I are driving (at 30 mph, to stay consistent). You are approaching a stop sign and, because you are too cool for school, you decide not to stop. You are going to blow right through the sucker. Remember our trains? You and I are both moving and we are going in different directions. You look at me and cannot tell how fast I am going, because you are not Einstein and can't figure out the angles and velocities in your head. I probably look like I am going slower than I am. So you, too cool for school dude, blow the stop sign and cut me off. Why? Because you don't understand the theory of relativity.

Get it? Did you follow?

I'm sure you are an excellent driver, but there are people out there (now brace yourselves) that aren't. I'd like to go up in a plane and drop fliers all over the city explaining this theory. Then maybe people will stop at stop signs?

Monday, March 7, 2011

Hi my peeps. I'm feeling a lot better. My doc put me on some new medication, abilify. It seems like a pretty serious drug. After making me very ill for a week, it seems to be working well. Thankfully, because the next step would've been pretty drastic.

I understand the tortured artist thing. I was so much more creative when I felt crappy. Check out some of the stamps I carved:

I hope those pictures load properly...

I also did some other stuff (scrapbook, knitting, cards) but I'm done playing with pictures. My motivation doesn't come back in a windfall. I'll tell you the rest later.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Have you heard of this organization? If you were my friend on facebook you would have...

Anyways, my friend Kirsten told me about Smile Train a while ago. She told me that they made a documentary that I had to see. Smile Pinki won the Academy Award for Best Documentary Short in 2008. The documentary follows the story of several children in India (including Pinki) who have cleft palates and how it affects their lives. These children can't even go to school, because they are shunned and misunderstood. They meet social workers from Smile Train, then travel to the city to have a simple operation that fixes their cleft palates. It is really an amazing story and you can get it free from their website.

Smile Train and Operation Smile are both organizations that fix children's cleft palates around the world. Recently they have come together to form Operation Smile Train. You should visit the websites to learn more. I had no idea that cleft palates are such a huge problem for children around the world and that they can be fixed with a simple hour long surgery.

There are many ways to help, even if you're not a surgeon. One way is through Campus Textbook Rentals. They are donating a portion of every rental to Operation Smile with a goal of 1,000 surgeries. When they contacted me and told me that they were donating 1,000 surgeries (and offered me candy) I jumped at the chance to help. I hope you can help too.